Insurgency
by CaroH
Summary: Aramis thought he was safe from the war until the day the Spanish came.
1. Chapter 1

This story was inspired by the various hints that have emerged about Season Three. It took hold of me and refused to let go.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter One**

It was a beautiful day in spring when the war came to Douai. Aramis was working in the vegetable garden, his hair tied back to keep it out of his eyes. He had taken to wearing it longer now that he was a lay brother instead of a soldier. He wielded the hoe with the same intensity he'd once brought to sword craft, the emerging weeds dying before they ever had a chance to flourish.

"Soldiers!" Brother Bertrand called from the gate.

Aramis' head shot up. He threw down the hoe and strode to join the young novice. Bertrand had just turned eighteen and had only been in the monastery for a few weeks. He'd taken a liking to Aramis, following him around like a lost puppy. In some ways he was a reminder of d'Artagnan and that thought tugged at Aramis' heart and conscience.

For four years his brothers had been fighting a war while he stayed safe inside the monastery walls. He could still vividly recall the day they came for him. The day he had turned them away because his vow to God was stronger than his allegiance to King and country. He hadn't seen them since, didn't even know if they still lived.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes against the bright sunlight and stared down the road. He estimated that a dozen men were galloping in their direction, the horses' hooves stirring up the dust to form a cloud around them. His first thought was that they were French then, with surprise he realised that he was wrong.

"Spanish," he hissed.

"Here?" Bertrand looked at him, his guileless blue eyes wide.

"Take word to the Abbot," Aramis said.

Several of the monks had wandered over, curious about their unexpected visitors. Aramis drew back from the gate, his thoughts in turmoil. When had the Spanish reached this far to the North? Had Paris fallen? Where was the French army? His hand strayed to his hip but there was no sword there now. Even after all this time he missed its comforting weight.

The riders thundered into the monastery yard, pulling their horses to an abrupt halt. Their leader had an aristocratic bearing and he gestured imperiously to one of the monks.

"Take my horse," he instructed in heavily accented French. He swung out of the saddle, pulled off his gloves and looked around.

Aramis retreated further into the shadows. He didn't understand why but felt it was important not to come to the attention of this man. The other soldiers were dismounting now and he could see how tired their horses were. They had ridden hard and fast to reach the monastery. He wondered if they were being pursued but saw no evidence that they were preparing for a siege. Perhaps they were just passing through and would be gone in the morning.

"I am Colonel Garcia Marquez and I demand to see your Abbot."

Four of the soldiers took the reins of the horses and began to lead them towards the stables. The others looked at the curious monks with varying degrees of disdain. Aramis hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, hoping that he presented a picture of innocuous servility. In reality his fingers itched to hold his sword and allow it to drink Spanish blood.

"I am Father Guillaume, Abbot of this monastery. How may I be of service?"

The Abbot was tall and thin with grey hair and shrewd grey eyes. He and Aramis did not do well together. The previous Abbot had been a kindly man who had welcomed Aramis with open arms. His premature death had been a tragedy for all the inhabitants. Father Guillaume had no patience with the fact that Aramis had still not decided to take his vows and seemed to delight in giving him the most menial of tasks to undertake. Obedience, which he had found difficult even under the best of circumstances, had become a daily trial.

"My men and I require accommodation and food," Colonel Marquez said.

"Of course. All are welcome here. We can provide shelter for the night…"

"You don't understand, Father. We are not intending to leave tomorrow. This is my new command post."

A shiver of fear ran down Aramis' spine. It was accompanied by a surge of hatred so strong that it caught him by surprise. He immediately whispered a plea for forgiveness even while his thoughts were racing. This was no ordinary troop of soldiers. They were here to spy and search out every weakness of their enemy. He had been such a soldier once, operating deep behind the lines, sowing misinformation and panic among the populace.

The Abbot looked nonplussed by the Colonel's statement but bowed and raised no objection to the intrusion. "I hope you will dine with me this evening," he said. "Brother Rene?" His gaze ranged around the assembled monks and brothers until he spotted Aramis. "You will tend to the horses."

Aramis' mouth tightened mutinously before he nodded his acceptance of the order. He moved around the outside of the crowd, keeping well clear of the Colonel. When he walked into the stables the soldiers ignored him.

"If it pleases you, I will look after your horses," he said with a humility he didn't feel.

"Take good care of them," one of the soldiers said, looking him up and down with contempt. "See that they are fed and watered."

"Of course."

They had left their saddlebags and, once they had gone, Aramis unsaddled the horses and then settled down to rifle through the soldiers' belongings in hopes of finding some clue as to their true intentions.

TMTMTM

Athos slumped tiredly in his camp chair, contemplating without enthusiasm the paperwork awaiting him. His first task was to write the daily dispatches to be sent to Paris. Then he would need to take inventory of their stores, which were quickly dwindling to the point where he would have to send out foraging parties. Then there were the reports from their scouts to be perused and orders written for the next day. In four years such tasks had become second nature to him although he didn't think he would ever come to enjoy them.

He poured a glass of wine and pulled pen and parchment toward him. They were embroiled in a campaign of attrition in dangerous mountainous terrain. Pitched battles were rare but ambushes on both sides were a common occurrence. The last few days had been quieter, allowing those of his men who had been injured or suffering from sheer exhaustion a brief respite. He began to write and then stopped, wondering if Porthos and d'Artagnan were back from their patrol. They had been gone since early morning and he had been expecting them back long before now.

With a heavy sigh he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and continued his report. The light dimmed inside the tent as the sun dipped toward the horizon. He stopped to light a candle, read through what he had written, and signed it. He sealed the missive and stood, rotating his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness that seemed to be a constant source of discomfort. Even when asleep he could never entirely relax. He drained his glass and stood up.

He left the tent just as raised voices heralded the return of the patrol. He quickly counted the men, his heart rate steadying when he saw that all had returned safely. Then he realised that there was an extra man with them. He walked forward to greet Porthos, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"Caught ourselves a Spanish courier," Porthos told him. "He's carryin' dispatches but none of us can read them." He tossed a package of letters to Athos.

"Bring him," Athos instructed, leading the way back to his tent.

One look at the Spaniard convinced Athos that the man wouldn't talk. He was clearly a seasoned soldier, who had seen his fair share of combat.

"Where were you taking these?" he asked.

The Spaniard stared at him with a slightly mocking smile and said nothing.

"No matter." Athos broke the seal on the first letter and scanned it quickly. Over the last four years, in the absence of their brother, he had familiarised himself with the language. The tidings were innocuous, telling him nothing he didn't already know. He turned his attention to the second one, a frown deepening on his forehead as he read it for the second time. He looked up to meet the concerned stares of Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Secure him and then return," he ordered.

"You alright?" Porthos asked.

"Hurry."

Porthos pushed the Spaniard out of the tent and Athos heard him give instructions to have the man put under guard. D'Artagnan looked at him curiously but said nothing until Porthos returned.

"Bad news?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos swallowed to try and return moisture to his dry mouth. "They have sent small troops of soldiers to the north. Their instructions are to cause as much chaos as they can. They seek to force us to divide our army, to weaken our assault on the border."

"Bastards," Porthos muttered.

"There is more," d'Artagnan said. "I can see it on your face. What else is wrong?"

"Do you remember Colonel Marquez?"

"How could we forget him," Porthos said. "He trapped a dozen of our men and slaughtered them like animals."

"He leads one of the incursions. He is to be headquartered at the monastery in Douai."

"Douai?" d'Artagnan said, his voice rough.

"Aramis!" Porthos gasped.

"Yes and I somehow don't think our brother will sit back and allow Marquez to complete his task without trying to stop him."

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Two**

It took a long time to groom and feed a dozen horses. By the end Aramis was tired, sweaty and smelling none too sweet. He walked out to the yard to find that it had gone dark. He had obviously missed Vespers and probably also the evening meal. He brushed stray pieces of straw from his black robe and went to the well to draw some water.

He cupped his hands, lifting the water to his lips. It slid down his throat like the sweetest of wines. Unbidden his mind turned to memories of nights with his friends or spent in the arms of a beautiful woman. He almost groaned aloud at the spectre of his next confession and the penance he would have to pay for his thoughts. He had been content with the routine and discipline of monastic life but that had all changed with the arrival of the Spanish. Suddenly he felt more alive, his body readying for a fight. It was exciting and totally contrary to the expectations of the Order.

"Brother Rene."

The elderly monk who approached him was one of Aramis' favourite companions. Philippe had lived in the monastery for over forty years and had many stories to tell. Aramis smiled warmly in greeting. "Brother Philippe. How are you this evening?"

Philippe suffered with his joints and Aramis was concerned for him. They had a competent infirmarian who supplied a soothing salve but even that wasn't enough to ease the old man's suffering. During his early years at the monastery he had been permitted to help tend the sick and injured. However, since Father Guillaume's promotion to Abbot he had been barred from spending time in the infirmary. He was told it was for the good of his soul to let go of all his earthly passions, a sentiment he found increasingly difficult to accept.

"My fingers are not as nimble as they once were, my young friend, but I endure."

"What can I do for you?" Aramis used some of the well water to cool the back of his neck and wipe the dirt from his face.

"Father Guillaume has sent for you."

None of Aramis' trepidation showed on his face. He had become adept at hiding his emotions during his long years of exile. "What have I done now?" he asked, only partly in jest.

Philippe sighed. "He didn't say. Be wary, Brother. The Spanish Colonel has already started to issue orders. You should not admit your former profession if anyone asks. I believe him to be a cruel man."

"I will take your good advice to heart."

Aramis entered the main building and walked to the Abbot's study. He knocked on the door, waiting for the invitation to enter. Once inside he stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. It had taken many months before the urge to stand to attention had left him. Now, the submissive pose was second nature.

"You completed your task?" Father Guillaume looked at him without warmth.

"Yes, Father."

"You will continue to tend to our visitors' horses."

Aramis looked up, anger flaring in his dark eyes. "You would welcome the Spanish?" he asked unwisely.

"Do you question my judgement?"

"My apologies," Aramis said, knowing that was the only acceptable answer.

"Your temper continues to be problematic," Father Guillaume said. "You will discuss it with your confessor."

"Yes, Father." Aramis mused that his temper had never been in issue when he was a Musketeer nor during the early days at the monastery.

"Colonel Marquez has given his word that we will not be harmed if we cooperate."

Aramis was uncomfortably aware of Guillaume's stare boring into him. This was the reason for the audience. He was being ordered to behave. "They are enemies of France."

"Would you have me risk the lives of everyone here?"

"No, of course not."

"Then heed my words well. No-one is to leave and visitors are to be turned away. Colonel Marquez assures me they will be gone in a few weeks. Until that time we will all stay within these walls."

"What of those who come seeking healing?" He looked up through lowered lashes to gauge the reaction to his question.

"They must find help elsewhere."

"But our duty…"

"I did not call you here for a debate. Tell me, Brother, are you happy here?"

Once he would have answered in the affirmative without reservation but recently the peace he had found seemed to be slipping through his fingers. "I am content."

"Yet you still have not made your vows."

"I have my reasons." He had made a private vow to God to dedicate his life in return for the safety of the Queen and Dauphin. No-one knew the specifics just as no-one knew he had lied under oath. It weighed on his conscience making him unworthy to take the final step into the priesthood. Every week he resolved to confess his mortal sin only to shy away at the last minute. He told himself that he was still protecting Anne and his son. The truth was he was afraid of the condemnation and confirmation that he would burn in hell for all eternity.

"Whatever your reasons you are a member of this Order and under my authority. I require your word that you won't interfere with the Spanish."

"I will not do anything to jeopardise my brothers." In that moment not even Aramis could have said with complete honesty to which set of brothers he was referring. He bowed deeply and took his leave.

TMTMTM

"I cannot abandon my command," Athos said. "Neither can I spare any men to leave the front."

"This is Aramis we're talking about," Porthos protested. "How can we abandon him?"

"Whatever might have happened over the last four years Aramis is a Musketeer. He can look after himself."

"Not against a troop of Spanish soldiers," d'Artagnan said.

"He is a monk. What cause would they have to harm him?"

"You said yourself that he won't sit back and let them run riot over the countryside," Porthos argued.

"I'm sorry, Porthos. My decision is final. I will send word to Paris. Treville will send out the reserves."

Porthos pushed himself to his feet, his body rigid with anger and fear. "He's our brother and you would leave him to face the Spanish alone." He turned and stormed out of the tent.

Athos poured wine into his glass and drained it. "Do you condemn me too, d'Artagnan?"

"You have your duty. I'm not happy about it but I understand. Porthos will come round eventually. He has missed Aramis all these years and had held to the hope that one day we'd be reunited."

"We have all missed him. I would go if I could."

"I know."

D'Artagnan left Athos alone. He passed a sleepless night railing against the demands of his position. He remembered the good years when the three of them had been inseparable. He thought of the events that had brought their youngest brother into their lives and pondered on the brutal events of the last few years. He missed their old life and, like Porthos, had long thought that Aramis would return to them. As the time had passed he realised it was a foolish dream.

He rose from his cot, lit the candles and started to compose his report. It would take at least a week to reach Paris. Then it would take time for Treville to mobilise troops. During all that delay Aramis could be in danger. The urge to saddle his horse and ride north was very strong but he knew and understood his duty. He sent men into danger every day. This was no different. At least that was what he told himself.

At first light he sent out two couriers with instructions to ride hard. He saw Porthos watching him. The big man turned away with a grimace, a clear indication that he was not yet forgiven. He returned to his tent, ate a frugal breakfast and perused the reports from his scouts. By mid-morning he began to feel as if he was suffocating within the confines of the tent walls. It had started to rain so he swathed himself in his cloak and walked outside.

Athos was deep in discussion with the farrier when one of the outlying guards came to report that a small convoy was heading in their direction. The camp was immediately put on alert until they could ascertain the identity of their visitors. When Treville rode in accompanied by four guards Athos felt his mood lighten for the first time that day. He strode over to meet his former commanding officer, holding the horse's bridle so that Treville could dismount.

"Minister, this is a surprise."

"Good morning, Captain. The King decided he wanted first hand news of our progress."

"Come inside." Athos turned to one of the younger Musketeers. "Can you have food and wine sent to my tent?"

Once out of sight of the men their stiff formality disappeared. Treville removed his cloak and hat and sat on one of the camp stools. He looked weary.

"How are you, Athos?"

"I am as you see. This war has been hard on everyone."

"And the men?"

"Eager to push into Spain and end this conflict."

The food and drink arrived and Athos poured wine for them both. He sat with a heavy sigh.

"I have news from Court. Spain has sent an ambassador to explore the possibility of a truce."

Athos sat forward eagerly. "Phillip has capitulated?"

"Not yet but the war has been a drain on the resources of both countries and there are rumours that his advisors have recommended that he sue for peace."

"So this might soon all be over?" Athos felt the first stirrings of hope that life could return to normal. Then he remembered the news they had intercepted the night before. "We captured a courier last night. The Spanish have sent small groups of soldiers to the north of the country to spread panic."

Treville put down his wine glass. "This is ill news. If Louis finds out about this it could sway him towards a continuation of the war. Do you have the details?"

Athos searched through the mass of papers on his desk, finally pulling out the message. Treville read it with a frown and then looked up. "Douai?"

"Yes. Apparently they have sent Colonel Marquez."

"These incursions must be stopped before they do any damage. From Douai the Spanish would be able to push towards Paris. The Colonel is a hero to the Spanish. His deeds and cruelty are legendary. Capturing or killing him might be the final push needed to bring Phillip to the bargaining table. How soon can you be ready to leave?"

"I'm needed here," Athos said, even though he wanted to go so badly that he was almost shaking.

"I can take command. This is a vital mission that could hasten the end of the war. Pick half a dozen men and get on the road as fast as you can."

Athos wasted no time in sending for d'Artagnan and Porthos. Both arrived speedily, greeting Treville warmly. Porthos, however, continued to look at Athos as if he was some particularly nasty species of insect.

"Gentlemen, I need you to select four men for a special mission. We leave before nightfall."

"We?" Porthos queried. "Where are we goin'?"

Athos could no longer hold back his joy and excitement. He smiled broadly at his brothers. "Douai. We're going to Douai."

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Life has been crazy this week and I haven't had time to work on Hunter's Moon. It might be several weeks before I can continue with either story. I am very humbled by the number of the reviews for both stories and hope that you continue to enjoy them.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter Three**

For three days Aramis followed orders. He also listened and observed. The Spanish soldiers, in their arrogance never considered that anyone might understand their language and he took full advantage of that. It was also interesting to see the reaction of the monks. Many, cowed by the authority of the Colonel and Father Guillaume went about their daily lives without complaint. However, some of the younger brothers privately expressed anger and frustration about their inability to oppose their unwelcome guests. It was no surprise that these men gravitated toward Aramis, looking to him for a solution. He did nothing to encourage them although he was heartened by the fact that he was not the only one who would take action if the opportunity presented itself.

Each morning he was instructed to saddle the horses. The soldiers would ride out in pairs, never in uniform, combing the countryside for targets and, no doubt, spreading misinformation. When they returned they would discuss what they had found, never paying any attention to him as he worked in subservient silence. On the third day there was talk about a night raid on the town of Douai. Aramis appeared to concentrate upon the task of mucking out the stables but in reality he was listening closely to the discussion. He sat through the evening meal deep in thought, something that did not go unnoticed.

"Is something wrong?" Brother Philippe asked quietly.

"I have much on my mind," he replied evasively.

"I can see that. Will you let me give you some advice?"

Aramis looked at him searchingly. "Always."

"Tread carefully. You wear your emotions too close to the surface. Father Guillaume and the Colonel both watch you closely."

Aramis cast a quick glance at the table where the Abbot and the Colonel sat. Neither was looking in his direction and he turned away before either should catch his eye. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course not," Brother Philippe said with perfect seriousness. "Nonetheless, my advice stands, for what it is worth."

By the time the monks were called to Compline Aramis knew what he had to do. He knelt in the chapel and let the words of Psalm 4 wash over him and give him strength.

"Hear me when I call,

O God of my righteousness:

thou hast enlarged me _when I was_ in distress;

have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer."

His prayer that night was for the courage to disobey the orders of his superior. It was difficult to reconcile his vow with the edicts of his heart. However, he couldn't live with himself if he let the Spanish roam the land unchallenged. He wished his brother Musketeers were here and sent up a prayer for their safekeeping. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest with an excitement he hadn't felt for four years. Despite everything he was a soldier and he knew his duty.

The familiar service soothed his troubled soul and the closing words of Psalm 90 brought him a sense of peace in the knowledge that he was doing God's work in opposing the Spanish usurpers.

"May the favour of the Lord our God rest on us;  
establish the work of our hands for us—  
yes, establish the work of our hands."

By the time Father Guillaume gave the benediction he knew that his resolve was strong enough to accomplish what was necessary that night. He retired to the dormitory that he shared with nine of his brethren, lay on his cot and waited. Total silence was enforced after the final service of the day so he didn't have to worry about being questioned or engaged in unnecessary chatter.

When all was peaceful he stood up. He could hear the soft snores of the sleepers but waited a few minutes to make sure that he was unobserved. He had reached the door before he heard a voice.

"Where are you going?"

He recognised Brother Bertrand and turned to quickly shush the young man. "My thoughts won't let me rest. I am going for a walk. Go to sleep."

"Can I come too?" Brother Bertrand asked eagerly.

"Not tonight." Once again his thoughts dwelt upon d'Artagnan but this wasn't a youth gifted with the sword and with courage to spare. "Don't tell anyone you saw me leave."

"Be careful."

Aramis smiled into the darkness. "I will."

His belongings were stored in a small room in the cellars. The door creaked when he opened it and he froze, listening hard. There were no footsteps or sounds of alarm so he slipped inside and found the box that he was looking for. His clothes smelt musty but they seemed to be intact. He pulled off his robe and donned breeches and shirt for the first time in four years. Next he drew out his sword belt. He had carefully cleaned and oiled his weapons before packing them away and his sword came easily from the scabbard. He slid the main gauche into its customary place. He looked longingly at his pistol but this night required stealth so he left it where it was. His blue sash had been carefully folded and he caressed it, remembering all the years when he had worn it with pride. With regret he moved his hand away. He was no longer a Musketeer and had no right to wrap it around his waist. It felt strange to be wearing boots and gloves again and to be armed. It also felt natural and reminded him of what he had left behind.

His next challenge was leaving the monastery. There were two guards on the front gate to prevent the monks leaving or any unexpected visitors from intruding. However, the Spanish didn't know that there was a short tunnel from the cellars which ended in a barred door which Aramis was relieved to find wasn't locked. It was warped, however, and took all of his strength to wrench it open. The crescent moon gave very little light but he knew his way. The town of Douai was an hour's hard walk away and he had very limited time to complete his mission. His boots, designed for riding, failed to protect his feet from the pebbles and twigs littering the narrow pathway. He gritted his teeth and forged ahead, putting the discomfort from his mind.

It was the middle of the night before he reached the town and everything was quiet except for a dog which reacted to his presence by barking hysterically. He hunkered down, stroked it and spoke quietly to settle it back down. The mayor's house lay in the centre of town. It was shuttered for the night, no light showing at the windows. He began to knock, the sound carrying a long way in the stillness. After what seemed like an eternity he heard footsteps and the mayor's man servant opened the door a crack.

"What do you want?"

"I urgently need to speak to Mayor Aubertin," he said.

"The Mayor is asleep. Come back tomorrow." The man started to close the door.

"Who is at the door," a voice called from inside the house.

Aramis shouldered his way inside, unconcerned by his lack of courtesy. "Brother Rene. I apologise for the lateness of my visit but I have important news." He had met the mayor several times over the years and had found him to be a fair-minded man. He could only hope that he wouldn't be turned away.

Mayor Aubertin came down the stairs and studied him carefully, noting his attire and the fact that he was armed. "Come in and tell me." He led the way to his study and lit the candles. "Does Father Guillaume know you are here?"

Aramis shook his head. "I came in secret. A troop of Spanish soldiers have commandeered the monastery and intend a raid on the town tomorrow night."

"Spanish? Here?"

"They arrived a few days ago."

"What is their plan?"

"They intend to target the barns, to destroy as much food as they can. They would starve the people, forcing them to petition the King for aid."

"How many are there?"

"Twelve although I think they will leave at least two on guard at the monastery. We have been prevented from sending word until now. They threatened to slaughter everyone within the walls if we resist."

"You have taken a grave risk coming here tonight." The Mayor offered his hand. "I thank you for the warning. We will be ready and will send word to Paris. Surely the King will send soldiers to vanquish the invadors."

Aramis bowed respectfully. "I wish you good fortune."

The nights were growing shorter as spring began to turn to summer and it was close to dawn before Aramis arrived back at the monastery. He changed his clothes quickly and silently made his way back to the dormitory. He had been in bed for no more than thirty minutes when the bells rang for Matins. Yawning, his eyes heavy with lack of sleep, he rose, dressed and joined his brothers in the chapel. He automatically made the right responses throughout the service but his mind was many miles away. His heart ached to be reunited with his Musketeer brothers and he wondered if he would ever see them again.

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Four**

Aramis was eating his evening meal of mutton stew and vegetables when Captain Vasquez sought him out. The Captain was a large muscular man, his dark hair peppered with grey, well-seasoned in battle and admired by his men. In all the days the Spanish had been at the monastery he had never said one word of thanks for all Aramis' hard work.

"We need nine horses saddled and ready at midnight."

Aramis looked at him wearily. He'd been exhausted all day due to lack of sleep, struggling to complete his duties. He had been counting down the hours until he could fall into bed and now that appealing prospect had been wrenched away from him. "Midnight?" he queried.

"Do not ask questions. Just do as you are ordered."

"Yes, Captain." He thought of all the years he had addressed Treville by that title, wondering how Athos was coping now with that responsibility. Not that he doubted his brother's abilities. Athos had been born to lead even if he refused to acknowledge it.

He returned to the dormitory for an hour, managing a brief nap. After Compline he went to the stables and set about his task. Gradually the soldiers began to gather, all dressed in dark clothing and discussing their mission in hushed voices.

"You will await our return," Vasquez said.

Aramis' jaw tightened as he fought back a response that would likely get him killed. Instead he nodded curtly. He settled down in a pile of clean straw and closed his eyes. Despite his tiredness he couldn't sleep knowing that the Spanish were on their way to attack Douai. With his warning the town stood a chance but men would still die in defence of their food stores. Part of him wished that he could stand and fight with the townsfolk. It was only when risking his life that he had felt gloriously alive. He'd said that to d'Artagnan once, when they were getting ready to battle for the fate of Pinon. A pang of longing caught him by surprise. Despite his devotion to God, he had to acknowledge that the last few years had been a poor substitute for his previous exhilarating existence.

It was several hours later that he heard a commotion at the gates. He stepped outside to witness the soldiers' return. One horse was riderless. Another carried two men, one supporting the other. One man dismounted and stood leaning heavily against the animal and clutching his left shoulder. There was blood staining his hand. Aramis hurried forward but was elbowed out of the way.

"Fetch your physician," Vasquez shouted. "We have injured men."

He hid his satisfaction and ran for the infirmary. Brother Jerome slept in one of the beds there. Aramis bent down and shook him gently. "Your skills are needed, Brother," he said when the elderly monk opened his eyes. "Two of the Spanish soldiers have been wounded."

Brother Jerome rose and pulled on his robe. "I have no experience with battle wounds. You will assist me."

"But Father Guillaume…"

"I care nothing for his preposterous order keeping you from helping the sick. I need you, Brother."

"Then I am at your disposal."

The two wounded soldiers were brought in and laid on beds. Aramis stood back while Brother Jerome assessed their injuries. When he finished he pulled Aramis to one side.

"A deep sword cut to the chest. The wound is severe. I fear he is unlikely to survive. The other has been shot in the shoulder."

"Is the ball still in there?"

"It is."

"Then I will tend to him."

Each patient was accompanied by two of his colleagues. Their care and concern reminded Aramis starkly of the bond he had shared with his brothers. It helped him to see the Spaniards as men who were suffering instead of as the enemy. Although he would never regret his actions in warning the town neither could he turn his back on those in pain.

He filled a kettle with water and hung it over the fire to heat. While he waited he approached his patient. "Do you speak French?"

The soldier was young, no more than in his early twenties and he was pale and sweating. He looked at Aramis with incomprehension.

"I do." The older man sitting on the edge of the bed spoke up, saving Aramis from having to reveal his knowledge of Spanish.

"Tell him I need to examine his shoulder. It will be painful. Can you cut off his shirt for me?"

The message was conveyed while Aramis gathered his instruments and supplies.

"What is his name?"

"Francesco."

"I am Rene. Now, let me see." The ball was lodged near the joint and would be difficult to extract without causing permanent damage. He kept up a steady stream of reassurances while he washed his hands and then bathed the wound. The forceps he would use were resting in a bowl of boiling water. His mind flew back to the day he'd pulled a ball from Treville's back and the words of Dr. Lemay about cleaning the instruments. It was yet another reminder of the life he had left behind, a life that he found was calling to him.

He unstoppered a bottle of brandy. "The alcohol helps to cleanse the wound." He poured a small amount into the ragged hole made by the ball.

The young man held tightly to the hand of his colleague and whimpered.

"You are doing well," Aramis said.

"Brother Rene! What are you doing here?"

Father Guillaume's irritated question shattered his concentration.

"He's helping me," Brother Jerome said. "Do you want these men to die? He is the most capable medic in the monastery."

"He has duties in the stables."

"He has duties here." Jerome stood toe to toe with the Abbot, his expression fierce and determined.

"Very well, but he will see to the horses once he has finished."

Aramis bowed his head, angered beyond reason by the callous treatment. Even had he not been up all the previous night, a fact that was unknown to those around him, he had still been awake well into the night and was unlikely to finish his work until after daybreak.

He returned his attention to the soldier and picked the forceps up. "You will want to hold him still," he said.

When the metal entered the wound the young man gave a strangled gasp and tried to squirm away from the pain. His companion held him tightly in place, a sick expression on his face. The gasp became a scream before Aramis managed to gain purchase on the ball and pull it free. He could only pray that he had not done damage to the joint but only time would tell. He gently wiped away the blood and dirt and reached for a dressing and some bandages.

"Your Abbot treats you harshly," the older soldier said.

"He is my Superior and only seeks to teach me the proper humility. You answer to your commanding officer. It is not so different."

"Why do you stay here? You aren't ordained. Don't you find it stifling?"

"This is my home." He tied off the bandage. "Francesco should stay here tonight. Brother Jerome will tend to him."

The soldier looked over at the other bed where Jerome was stitching the ugly wound in his patient's chest. "What of Leandro?"

Aramis had seen many wounds in his time as a soldier and had no doubt that Jerome's assessment was correct. "He is in God's hands," he said.

TMTMTM

Aramis walked through the silent hallways on his way to the stables. He was approaching the room commandeered by the Colonel when he heard raised voices.

"How did this happen?" the Colonel asked angrily.

He slowed down and looked around, finding that he was alone. After pressing his body against the wall outside the partially open door he settled down to listen.

"They were waiting for us." That was the voice of Captain Vasquez.

"How is that possible? Were your men careless while scouting the area?"

"I can assure you, Colonel, that my men know their business. No, someone must have alerted the town."

"Only the monks know we are here."

"Then one of them must have betrayed us."

Aramis' heart began to beat faster. He was under no illusion about what would happen if the Colonel decided that they were expendable.

"I will discuss this with Father Guillaume. He knows the penalty for insurrection. It will be for him to find the traitor and deliver him to justice or I will slaughter every last one of them."

A chill ran down Aramis' spine and he began to back away from the room.

"Two nights from now you will attack the outlying farms. Kill anyone who opposes you," the Colonel said.

"As you wish. How much longer will be stay here? Surely by now word has been sent to Paris."

"We will leave once we have accomplished our mission. We will wreak havoc upon this land before we go."

Aramis had no hope that troops would arrive before the Spaniards next foray. He would have to take a chance on leaving the monastery again to spread word of the imminent attack. Until then, he must give the Abbot no cause to suspect him. If he were found out execution would be swift and he wasn't yet ready to die. On the contrary he was coming to the conclusion that he needed to take his life back into his own hands. It was time he returned to the Musketeers. If he was welcome and if only he could survive long enough to do so.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Five**

After two nights without sleep Aramis was barely able to function. He tended to the horses in an exhausted haze before curling up in the straw to sleep for a few hours. He awoke to find a summons from the Abbot.

"You look tired," Father Guillaume said solicitously.

"I was awake all night," Aramis responded, trying hard to keep his tone respectful.

"Brother Jerome was most complimentary about your work."

"I was only doing my duty."

"Yet you resent following orders." The Abbot's tone remained even, lacking its usual censorious overtones.

Aramis felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water. He was instantly alert, wondering with concern, where this conversation was heading. "I have never failed to follow the instructions that I have been given."

"Is that true, I wonder? Colonel Marquez is concerned that someone within these walls has been passing information to the local populace. That would be in direct contravention of my orders."

Aramis remained silent, his head bowed and his hair falling forward to hide his expression. He could feel his heart rate increasing, wondering if he was about to be denounced to the Spanish.

"I have assured him that he is mistaken. Nonetheless he has doubled the guard and his men have been instructed to kill anyone attempting to leave the monastery."

"Why are you telling me this?" Aramis looked up, his gaze piercingly direct.

"It is always better to be forewarned. I would hate for there to be any misunderstanding between us and our Spanish guests."

"I will ensure that they see nothing to cause them concern," Aramis said carefully.

"Good, now return to your duties."

The news that the Abbot knew of his nocturnal wanderings sent his mind reeling. He had despised his superior for cooperating with the enemy, but now he was unsure. Gradually his tired mind began to put the pieces together. Father Guillaume knew he spoke Spanish and he had been put in the perfect position to overhear the enemies' plans. His years as a soldier were also known and a soldier's instincts never entirely disappeared. His mouth curved into a smile. He had been manipulated for the greater good of France and had badly misjudged the Abbot's motives. He had also been given tacit permission to continue with his insurgency and that revived his spirits. Lack of sleep was no excuse for failing in his duties to King and country. Tonight he would get word to the Mayor about the impending attack on the outlying farms. He was no longer a Musketeer but he would fight this war his own way no matter the personal risks. Success was paramount if he was to defeat the Spanish offensive and keep his fellow monks safe from retribution.

TMTMTM

His trip to Douai was without incident. He saw for himself the scale of the damage done by the Spanish raiders and heard that four men had died, with another three wounded to varying degrees. His offer of medical assistance was declined by the Mayor although he expressed his gratitude. All the injured were expected to recover and the town physician had their care in hand.

He kept close to the treeline on his way back to the monastery. The night was dark, with clouds obscuring the moon, and he was relying on his hearing more than on his sight. He was within reach of the monastery when he heard a rustling noise behind him. He began to turn, reaching at the same time for his sword but he was a second too late. A muscular arm circled his chest, pinning his arms to his body. At the same time a calloused hand clamped down firmly across his mouth, stifling his instinctive protest. He was yanked backwards, deeper into the trees. Even though he hadn't been involved in a fight for four years, he still remembered all the countermoves to an attack such as this one. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose and prepared to push.

"There's a Spanish patrol two hundred yards west of here," a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

Before his tired brain could process the words he was released and spun round to be enveloped in a massive bear hug. "Porthos!" he whispered. He looked over Porthos' shoulder to see the amused expressions of Athos and d'Artagnan. There were other men with them but he only had eyes for his three brothers. Porthos let go and Athos moved to take his place. Then, d'Artagnan was there, grasping his hand and pulling him into a quick embrace. He stood speechless, trying to make sense of their miraculous arrival. Athos put a finger to his lips to remind him to remain silent and he nodded to acknowledge the warning.

Soon a man he didn't recognise appeared from the direction of the roadway and saluted Athos. "They've moved on, Sir."

"Thank you Sebastien. Tell the men to make camp. Set a guard too."

"Athos. How…?" He drank in the sight of the Captain. Athos looked older and, if it was possible, more self-possessed. His full beard was gone, replaced by a neat goatee and he looked fitter than Aramis had ever seen him. It appeared that the war had tempered him into a more efficient fighter and an able commander.

"Treville sent us. It's good to see you, Aramis. Now, do you want to tell us what you are doing sneaking around in the middle of the night?"

"The Spanish have occupied the monastery."

"We know that." Porthos had changed too. His hair was longer and his beard was unkempt and wild but there was something about his eyes that worried Aramis. He'd seen horrors and endured them without bending. Aramis was afraid that his best friend might someday break under the pressure and this weighed heavily on him with a mantle of guilt. If he had been there he could have helped to ease the strain of unrelenting fighting.

"We captured a courier carrying dispatches that spoke of an attack on Douai and other towns. We thought you could use some help." D'Artagnan looked physically little changed. However, he had an air about him that spoke of confidence and competence.

"How's Constance?"

There was a slight flush in the younger man's cheeks. "She was well the last time I saw her."

"Is she still in service to the Queen?" Aramis hadn't allowed himself to think of Anne and his child for a long time.

"Not any longer. There is much poverty in Paris. The cost of the war has drained the treasury. Constance does what she can to help the sick and needy."

"She always was a fine woman."

"You don't look like no monk," Porthos said, eyeing him critically.

"I am still a lay brother. I never took my final vows."

"I'm guessing it isn't normal for a lay brother to be outside the monastery at night, armed to the teeth." Athos grinned at him.

"Not normal, no." Aramis returned the smile. "I learnt of the Spaniards' plans and have passed a warning to the town."

"Told you he'd be gettin' himself into trouble," Porthos grumbled.

"Well, we're here to help now," Athos said. "Come, sit and tell us what is happening."

"I have to get back." Aramis looked toward the sky but with the cloud cover couldn't tell the position of the moon.

"No, you don't. You can stay with us," d'Artagnan said.

"If I am found to be missing the Spanish will know that I have betrayed them and will kill everyone in the monastery. I won't be responsible for their deaths."

"It isn't safe for you to go back."

"I have no choice, Athos. Let me tell you what I know and then I must leave."

"Very well, although I am agreeing under protest."

"They are under the command of Colonel Marquez."

"Aye, we know him. He slaughtered a troop of Musketeers. Treville wants him captured or dead. Personally I'd like the chance to skewer the bastard."

Aramis smiled at Porthos' passion. "He arrived with eleven men but two were wounded last night and are in the infirmary. They plan a night raid to burn and terrorise the farms outside of town. It is my belief that they will then leave before troops can arrive from Paris."

"We won't give them the chance to leave," d'Artagnan said hotly. "They've invaded our country and must pay the price."

"Treville believes the war is almost over. Defeating the Colonel could be the final push Philip needs to agree terms. We can arrange an ambush. They'll never see it coming," Athos said decisively.

"That won't help you get to Marquez. He never rides with his men. If you want him you'll have to take him in the monastery. There is a secret way in. If you come with me I will show you. I suggest you split your forces. Leave some men in ambush while you enter the monastery and capture the Colonel. There are unlikely to be more than two guards and I can help from inside."

Athos nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds feasible. What time will they ride out?"

"Last time it was at midnight. Give me fifteen minutes after they leave to gather my weapons and get into position."

"Agreed. Now, brother, show us the way in."

It felt natural to be walking with his three companions again. It was as if the previous four years of separation had never happened. He showed them the entrance and then, with regret, prepared to part from them again. Athos halted him with a hand on his arm.

"When this is over what will you do?"

"Ride with you, if you'll have me."

He didn't wait to gauge their reaction to that statement. He closed the gate behind him and walked down the corridor. He had almost reached the room where he had left his robes when he heard footsteps both ahead and behind him. He drew his sword and waited.

Colonel Marquez, accompanied by Father Guillaume and two soldiers appeared from around a corner. The soldiers were armed with pistols which were pointed at his head. He half turned to find another two Spaniards behind him, also heavily armed. He let the point of his sword droop to the floor and raised his chin defiantly.

"I am curious, Brother," Marquez said. "Where have you been?"

Tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Warning for violence and general Aramis whump.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter Six**

When Aramis didn't respond to the question about his whereabouts the Colonel turned to Father Guillaume. "Did you know about this?"

"No," Aramis said quickly. "I acted alone." He wondered how he had been discovered. His next thought was one of panic. If the Spanish knew about the entrance he had used his friends could be walking into a trap. What if he had been seen talking to them? Their position might already be compromised.

The Colonel sneered at him. "We will soon discover the truth. You will surrender your sword."

Recognising that he had no choice he held out his weapon. It was snatched from his hand and his main gauche was pulled from its scabbard leaving him defenceless. One of the soldiers pulled his arms behind his back and bound his wrists. There wasn't a shred of sympathy on the man's face as he tightened the rope.

"What happens now?" Aramis asked.

"You were once a soldier. Yes? Then I do not have to tell you what happens to an enemy combatant who has been convicted of spying."

"I wasn't aware I'd been tried and found guilty," Aramis said, keeping all apprehension from his voice.

"We have no time for the niceties of a trial. In times of war it is for the commander to make decisions. Before you die, however, I want answers."

"Then you will be disappointed." His stomach clenched uncomfortably. He wasn't afraid of pain. He was afraid that he would inadvertently betray his friends.

"You will be questioned. It will be unpleasant. Why not save yourself from the pain and volunteer the information I want?"

"I have no information to give," he answered stoically.

The Colonel did not look too disappointed by the answer and Aramis could understand that. He was responsible for the injuries suffered by two of the Spanish soldiers. They would want their revenge for that before he was shot. What was particularly hard was the knowledge that his brothers were so close yet unaware of his plight. By the time they infiltrated the monastery he would most likely be dead and that was the cruelest irony of all.

"I must protest," Father Guillaume said forcefully. "Torture is barbaric. This man belongs to the Church. You have no right to treat him this way."

"Be careful, Abbot, or I might decide that you were in league with him and that would have unfortunate consequences for the rest of your monks."

The Abbot shot Aramis an apologetic look and backed down. Aramis felt no sense of betrayal. Indeed it was a relief to know that he was the only one who was going to suffer for his actions.

"Bring him."

A hand on his arm steered him along the hallway, up the stairs and into the refectory. He was pushed into a chair and tied to it. His breathing began to speed up as he waited for the inevitable pain.

"Where were you tonight?" the Colonel asked.

"Out for a walk." The first blow snapped his head to the left. A burning pain began along his cheekbone.

"What information have you passed to the French? How much of our plan have you betrayed?"

"It is no betrayal to be loyal to your own country."

The next blow split his bottom lip open. He felt blood trickle down his chin and into his beard.

"I assume you speak Spanish," the Colonel said. "What information did you overhear?"

Aramis shook his head and remained silent. The soldier's fist connected with his right eye, blurring his vision. The questions continued at a relentless pace, each one accompanied by a blow to his face which quickly became bloodied and bruised. Throughout the assault he said nothing, just prayed that it would soon be over. It took him a few moments to notice that the punches had stopped. Someone grabbed his hair and hauled his head back. He looked blearily at the furious features of the Colonel.

"I can see that stronger methods are going to be necessary."

Aramis didn't want to think about the meaning of that statement. He groaned involuntarily, his head sagging forward when his hair was released. He was cut loose from the chair and hustled out of the refectory. When he had trouble keeping up he was struck in the ribs and one particularly brutal blow connected with his back, close to his kidney.

When they reached the courtyard his first thought was that he was about to be executed. Then he saw Captain Vasquez holding a horse whip and he realised that he had more trials to face before the end.

TMTMTM

"He's comin' back with us," Porthos said joyfully.

"I wonder what changed his mind?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's a soldier and he's finally realised that he can't live without the danger and excitement." Athos pulled his cloak closer around his body to ward off the chill of the night air.

"I wish he'd stayed with us."

"He made a valid point, d'Artagnan. The Colonel is known for his brutality. He wouldn't hesitate to deliver on his threat to execute the monks. Aramis couldn't live with that on his conscience."

"He looked tired and tired men make mistakes," Porthos said.

"Aramis can take care of himself."

"I hope you're right, Athos, because there's nothin' we can do to help him if he gets into trouble. Not until tomorrow night."

"It's not ideal, I grant you that. However, we now have a plan that has every chance of success and we have our brother coming home to us. I'd say that was a good night's work."

'Who're you puttin' in charge of the men out here?"

"You're assuming that we three will assault the monastery."

"Who else would it be?" d'Artagnan asked. "We're used to fighting as a unit and we know Aramis' style. None of the men with us ever fought with him."

"I will leave Sebastien in command of the ambush. He's earned his chance."

"He's a capable soldier," d'Artagnan said.

"Still, I would feel happier if one of you led the men."

"Not goin' to happen," Porthos said with an air of finality. "Remember? All for one."

"And one for all," Athos and d'Artagnan said both happy in the knowledge that their brother was coming home.

TMTMTM

Aramis was suspended by his wrists from one of the joists in the stables. His shirt was cut from his body leaving him shivering from the cold and the pain of his injuries. The Colonel stood in front of him, grasping his chin and lifting his head up so that they stood eye to eye.

"This is your last chance. Who have you spoken to and what information have you relayed."

When Aramis remained silent the Colonel moved back and nodded to the Captain. "Proceed."

The first stroke of the whip made Aramis catch his breath in shock. He'd never been flogged before and wasn't prepared for the severity of the pain. Captain Vasquez quickly settled into a rhythmic routine of strokes, each one of which elevated Aramis to new heights of agony. He could feel the whip tearing at his skin and it didn't take long before blood began to run down his back. At first he tried to keep a count of the lashes but that quickly became impossible and he concentrated instead on suppressing the groans of pain. When he made his first involuntary sound he felt as if he had somehow let himself down by showing weakness to the enemy. As if that had been a signal the Captain increased his speed, his arm appearing tireless. Now, Aramis couldn't contain the sounds of agony that slipped through his bruised lips. His back was a molten river of excruciating pain. His head began to reel as he edged closer to unconsciousness but, before he could find that blessed relief, the blows stopped. The world began to spin in sickening circles, leaving him feeling sick and weak.

"Don't you want this to end, Brother," the Colonel asked solicitously. "You only have to say the word."

Aramis gathered the pitiful amount of moisture left in his mouth and spat in the direction of his tormentor. It was the only defiance he could offer now that speech seemed to have eluded him.

"Continue."

The Colonel sounded furious and that was enough to bolster Aramis' determination. The lashes resumed and Aramis found his voice. His screams echoed around the stables and, although he didn't know it, filtered out to the monks who had been rounded up and forced to stand in the courtyard, mute witnesses to his torment. When the blows stopped for a second time his knees gave way with relief. He cried out when he took his full weight on his wrists, jarring his shoulders. He heard the Colonel and Vasquez conversing, although it was impossible to concentrate hard enough to work out everything they were saying. He got the impressing that Vasquez was questioning the effectiveness of the torture and that brought hope that his torment was about to end.

"Cut him down." The order came from the Colonel.

A knife sliced through the rope and Aramis fell heavily to the ground, uncaring that the open wounds in his back were likely to become ingrained with dirt and susceptible to infection. He didn't expect to live long enough for that to cause a problem.

"Get him on his feet."

He was hauled upright despite his efforts to hunch his back protectively. The abrupt movement sent more shafts of agony lancing through his body. They dragged him outside where he was surprised to find that the sun had risen. He screwed up his eyes against the brightness of the light.

"If you don't value your own safety perhaps there is another way to persuade you."

Aramis looked up groggily and saw two of the soldiers hustling Brother Bertrand to the front of the group of monks. The youth looked terrified. A sick feeling swept through him as he tried to take more of his own weight.

"We will start with the youngest and continue until I have the answers."

"What are you going to do?" Aramis asked weakly.

"This." The Colonel drew his sword and plunged it into Bertrand's body.

Aramis' eyes widened in horror. "No!" he yelled, his breath coming in heaving gasps. "No! No!"

Tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Seven**

"You are the Devil Incarnate." Father Guillaume dropped to his knees beside Bertrand's body.

Aramis, having spent his remaining strength, hung limply in the hands of his guards and squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the hideous sight.

"There will be no more killing," the Abbot continued. He gently closed Bertrand's eyes and made the sign of the cross.

"That depends upon Brother Rene." The Colonel turned to Aramis. "Are you ready to answer my questions now?"

A persistent buzzing started in Aramis' ears. When he attempted to open his eyes his vision was edged with black. His stomach roiled and bile rushed up his throat. He tried to nod, failing miserably as the darkness closed in.

When he next became aware of his surroundings he was lying down, resting on his side. The pain of his wounds returned with full force and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. In addition to the unremitting pain in his back he noted that his right eye was swollen shut and his jaw felt like he had hit a wall. He was in a bed, something which vaguely surprised him, until he remembered that he still had information vital to the Spanish.

"Stay still."

The soothing tones of Brother Jerome were almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"He didn't…?" he stammered, unable to finish the thought. All he could see was the butchered body of an innocent boy. His guilt threatened to overwhelm him. If he had spoken out sooner Bertrand would still be alive.

"No-one else was harmed," Brother Jerome said gently. "After you collapsed we carried Brother Bertrand's body to the chapel and said a Mass for his soul. I asked permission to tend to you, although I think the only reason the Colonel agreed was to ensure you are well enough to be questioned again."

"How did he find out?" Aramis' back twitched. It felt like an army of ants was marching up and down his skin, their feet dipped in molten lava.

"He decided to send out a night patrol. Here, drink this. It will help with the pain." Jerome held a cup to his lips and he drank gratefully. "He sent for you to ready the horses. Once it was found you were missing he tore the monastery apart to find out how you had slipped away."

"I'm sorry."

"You were doing your duty. I think you are still more of a soldier than a monk."

"Is he awake?" The Colonel's voice caused Aramis to flinch.

"He is, but he is very weak."

"That does not concern me." Marquez pulled over a chair and sat by Aramis' bedside.

"Help me to sit up," Aramis asked Brother Jerome.

"You should stay lying down. Your back is a mess."

With gritted teeth Aramis tried to push his aching body upright. Seeing his determination Jerome moved to help although he muttered something about stubborn young men. Once he had succeeded in sitting up he realised that he couldn't lean against the pillows without causing unspeakable agony. He hunched forward and met the Colonel's gaze as steadily as he could.

"What regiment did you serve in?" Colonel Marquez asked.

"I was a Musketeer."

"Ah, that explains much. I have killed many of your compatriots." The Colonel was unaffected by Aramis' glare. "You will answer my questions truthfully or I will make good on my threat to kill more of your brethren. You speak Spanish?"

"Yes."

"You warned the town about our attack?"

"Yes." He swallowed, almost shuddering at the pain. His screams had left his throat lacerated and raw.

"Have they sent for reinforcements from Paris?"

Aramis debated his answer, deciding that he was not telling the Colonel anything he couldn't guess. "They have."

"It is too soon for help to have arrived," the Colonel mused. "But troops will come soon."

"If you stay here you will all die," Aramis said, his voice rough and lacking its usual power.

The Colonel ignored him. "Where did you go last night?"

He lowered his head, ashamed of his next words. "Douai, to speak to the Mayor."

"What information did you give to him?"

This was the crux of his dilemma, but he couldn't allow the Colonel to kill anyone else. His hesitation though was greeted with a deep frown. He thought of his brothers. They were expecting an attack on the outlying farms and would be planning accordingly. However, he knew Athos would have prepared for every eventuality and that the Musketeers had been seasoned by four years of war. They would not be caught unaware by a change in plan. Also, he could tell the truth without betraying them because the Colonel believed it was too soon for French troops to have reached the region.

"I am waiting. Do I have to order the death of another of the monks?"

"No. I'll tell you." He raised his head, praying that the Colonel would accept what he was about to say and not ask further questions. "I overheard you and the Captain discussing an attack on the farms. That is what I told the Mayor."

The Colonel stood up and gestured to the soldier waiting behind him. "Find somewhere to lock him up."

"Have some pity," Brother Jerome said. "He needs medical care."

"Listen well, old man. Tonight the town of Douai will burn. If he is telling the truth there will be little resistance because all the men will be protecting the farms. If he has lied he will watch everyone here die before his own execution. Either way he dies tonight. Your skills would be wasted."

Aramis slumped back against the pillows, causing him to whimper as his lacerated back made contact with the rough material. His heart was heating wildly as hope swelled in his chest. He had been granted a reprieve. Maybe he would survive long enough to be rescued.

TMTMTM

Night crept over the horizon and the Musketeers finished their final weapons check. Athos mentally reviewed their plan. It sounded simple: enter the monastery through the secret passage, meet up with Aramis, locate the Colonel and take him prisoner. He wasn't fool enough to believe they wouldn't encounter obstacles and difficulties along the way but he was confident they would prevail. His mouth was dry with anticipation. The success of their actions tonight could finally herald the end of a war that had almost brought ruin to both countries.

"D'Artagnan. Go and scout out the entrance to the monastery. We can't afford for anything to go wrong."

The gate was on the east side of the monastery complex, screened from the road by a copse of mature trees. D'Artagnan kept to the shadows as he made his way from their camp. He was filled with nervous excitement as was always the case before a battle. Once they began their mission that feeling would be replaced by confidence in his own abilities and those of his brothers.

He chose a position from which he could see the gate without being observed. At first all was quiet as the night deepened. Then he thought he saw movement. He edged forward, straining his eyes to penetrate the deep gloom. He saw it again. There was definitely someone standing just inside the entryway.

His first thought was that it was Aramis waiting for them but he quickly discounted that. It was then that the full significance crashed down around him. He hurriedly backed away and, once he was sure he wouldn't be seen, he started to run. By the time he reached their camp he was out of breath and incapable of speech. He caught Porthos' eye and the large man immediately picked up on his unease.

"Athos," Porthos called.

Their leader joined them immediately. "What's wrong?"

D'Artagnan heaved in a breath. "There's a guard at the gate."

"Aramis said the Spanish didn't know of its existence," Athos said quietly.

"They know about it now." Porthos laid a comforting hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Do you think they know about Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We must assume they do. If he had been captured they might be expecting our attack."

"Aramis would never betray us," Porthos said hotly.

"We all know Marquez' reputation. If Aramis is in his hands he will not have been gently treated. He might even be dead."

"Aramis isn't dead," Porthos asserted with complete confidence.

"How can you be sure?" d'Artagnan asked, fear for his friend coiling in his chest.

"Don't you go doubtin' him."

"Whether he is alive or dead we must adjust our plans. Sebastien," Athos called. "Place a lookout on both roads leaving the monastery and have the men ready to leave the minute there is any sign of the Spanish. You are in charge." He turned back to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Come on. We have a Spanish Colonel to capture and," he paused, "a brother to rescue."

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Eight**

"They are heading for the town. Seven men," Sebastien reported.

Athos nodded, his face an expressionless mask. His thoughts, however, were troubled. The change of plans was a clear indication that Aramis had been discovered and, almost certainly, tortured for information about his movements. "You know what to do," he said.

When he rejoined Porthos and d'Artagnan both looked at him expectantly.

"The town."

"That doesn't mean Aramis is dead," Porthos said.

"No, but he is certainly a prisoner and in no position to help us."

"We'll have to find Marquez on our own," d'Artagnan said.

"It will be harder."

"How many men will we be facing," d'Artagnan asked.

"Seven rode out. We know there were twelve, with two of them injured and in the infirmary. That leaves Marquez and two others."

"One on each gate?"

"That seems likely, Porthos."

"We're evenly matched then."

"Except that we don't know where he is and we can't afford to let him escape."

"Maybe one of the monks will help," d'Artagnan suggested.

"They should all be abed." Athos ran a hand through his hair while he thought through their options. "Our first priority is to take out the guards."

"Let's go then," Porthos said eagerly.

They made their way silently to the gate and Porthos took up position to the side out of sight of the guard. Once he was ready Athos picked up a stick and snapped it. In the stillness of the night the sound travelled a long way and clearly reached the ears of the Spaniard. He emerged cautiously, sword and pistol in hand. As soon as he was clear of the gate Porthos pounced. He knocked the pistol out of the soldier's hand and spun him around. A powerful blow to the face knocked the man senseless.

"Tie him up," Athos ordered as he and d'Artagnan emerged from the shelter of the trees.

"That was easy." Porthos grinned at him.

"Don't expect the rest to be that simple."

They entered the passageway, swords and pistols at the ready. Soon they came upon storerooms which they quickly checked as they passed. When they reached a flight of stair Athos held up a hand to halt their progress.

"Porthos, you take the courtyard and front gate. D'Artagnan, come with me."

They ascended to the ground level and entered the cloister. With a brief salute, Porthos left them.

"Where do we start?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Good question. The guest quarters are usually furthest from the chapel but there must be dozens of rooms here for us to search."

"Then we should get started."

They chose a hallway running westward from the chapel. The first room they encountered was the refectory which was deserted at that hour of the night. A couple of empty rooms followed. The next turned out to be a dormitory and d'Artagnan closed the door silently so as not to waken any of the monks. The last thing they needed was a mass panic which could only alert the Colonel to their presence.

When they found the Abbot's study Athos put a hand on d'Artagnan's arm to stop him. There was a door in the far wall that would lead to the Abbot's living quarters.

"We could spend hours looking," Athos whispered. "We need help."

They crept through the study and Athos reached for the door handle. It creaked when he turned it and, when he pushed the door open, he found a man kneeling at a prie-dieu. The Abbot looked around, startled.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"There is no need to be alarmed, Father. We are King's Musketeers," Athos said.

Father Guillaume rose to his feet. "How did you get in here?"

"A good friend showed us the way."

"Brother Rene? You are his friends?"

It was strange to hear Aramis called by his given name. Athos nodded. "Where is he?"

"He is locked in one of the cells. I'm afraid Colonel Marquez discovered his nocturnal activities."

"Is he alright?" d'Artagnan asked.

Father Guillaume looked away. "He was tortured for information."

"Can you take us to him?" Athos asked.

"Of course." His expression turned grim. "You know the Spanish soldiers will be returning soon?"

Athos smiled without any humour. "No they won't. My men will see to that."

"Then you are most welcome to any help I can give." He led them back to the hallway and along to a flight of stairs leading to the upper storey of the building. "He is in the second room on the left. The door is locked." He held out a bunch of keys, indicating the right one. "This will get you inside."

"You had the key and you just left him there?" d'Artagnan said, outraged.

"You have to understand something, young man. Colonel Marquez killed one of the Brothers to force Rene to talk. He would not hesitate to kill again if we freed Rene from his prison."

"We are sorry to hear that, Father. Come, d'Artagnan. We will return once we have checked on Aramis and then you can tell us where to find the Colonel."

They ran up the stairs and found the room. It looked to be an unused monk's cell although without light they couldn't see anything through the grille set in the door. The lock was stiff, taking much of Athos' strength to turn the key. When he opened the door he heard rustling and a brief groan.

"Aramis?" He entered warily before waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"A…Athos?"

"I'm here, my friend, as is d'Artagnan." He dropped to his knees before the huddled body of his brother and reached out.

Aramis flinched. "Don't touch me," he whispered.

"We need light, d'Artagnan," Athos said, suddenly afraid of what he would see.

He heard d'Artagnan leave but the young man wasn't gone for long. He returned holding a long candle, the light dancing around him. It gave Athos his first good look at Aramis and he bit back a curse. Aramis' face was swollen and bruised. He was shirtless and shivering. He caught a glimpse of the abraded skin on his friend's back and felt briefly nauseous. "Your back?"

"I was flogged," Aramis said, his voice oddly disconnected.

"How bad?"

"It is painful but Brother Jerome tended to it soon after it happened so I am hopeful of avoiding infection. Help me to stand."

Athos extended his hand and Aramis grasped it. He gave a shocked gasp as the movement jarred his wounds. Athos steadied him until he could stand unaided, aware of d'Artagnan hovering close by protectively.

"Give me a pistol," Aramis said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." There was a determined set to Aramis' jaw and a smoldering anger in his eyes. "Marquez must be made to pay for what he's done."

"We need him alive," Athos warned.

"He killed a young novice in cold blood. He doesn't deserve to live."

"He slaughtered a troop of Musketeers on the border. Believe me, I want to see him dead as much as you do," Athos said. "But his capture could bring this war to an end and that's more important than revenge."

Aramis looked unconvinced but inclined his head to show that he understood the order.

"It's good to see you, Aramis." D'Artagnan came forward to take his hand. "We were worried."

"I knew you'd find me." He looked around. "Where's Porthos?"

"Taking care of the front gate."

"If we're all quite ready," Athos said with a quirk of his eyebrow indicating that it was time for them to move.

"The Colonel has taken over the guest quarters." Aramis moved towards the door stiffly and without his normal exuberance.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I won't let you down, Athos."

"I know. Alright, gentlemen, let's go."

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Nine**

They returned to the Abbot's study where Father Guillaume was anxiously waiting. "Brother Rene, you should rest," he said, his voice full of concern.

"I'm going with them," Aramis responded.

"Still stubborn! Well, let me fetch you a robe." Father Guillaume went into his bedroom, returning quickly with a black robe.

Aramis looked at it indecisively. Although he didn't want to face the Colonel half naked he wasn't looking forward to having anything touching his back.

"Let me help you." D'Artagnan took the robe and approached Aramis.

He raised his arms as far as he could, the blood draining from his face when fiery pain lanced through his back. D'Artagnan slipped it over Aramis' head and he shoved his arms through the sleeves, suppressing a whimper. The material slid down his skin, feeling like the roughest wool against his ultra-sensitive nerves. His world tilted alarmingly and he felt d'Artagnan's hand on his arm offering support. When his vision cleared he saw Athos watching him critically.

"I will be alright," he said unconvincingly.

"I would be happier if you stayed here."

"I've earned the right to be involved in his capture," Aramis said hotly.

"No-one disputes that, but you are hurt and weak from the beatings."

Blood rushed back into his face as anger surfaced. "I've fought with worse injuries or do you believe I am not fit because I haven't been a soldier for four years?"

"I meant no offence," Athos said. "But, be sensible. You have been beaten and flogged and, yes, you aren't as fit as you used to be."

"I can still shoot."

"Somehow I doubt that. Look at your hands. You're shaking so badly you couldn't even aim."

"This bickering isn't getting us anywhere," d'Artagnan said, concerned about the rift developing between his two friends. "Athos, I think Aramis is right. He has earned his place in this night's work."

"Very well, but d'Artagnan and I take the lead."

"Agreed," Aramis said hastily before Athos could have second thoughts. "Father, you should tell our Brothers what is happening. Keep them safe within their rooms until we have the Colonel in custody."

"I will take care of them. Now, go, bring this man the justice he deserves."

Aramis' mouth tightened at that. "He will never face true justice for the death of Brother Bertrand. He will be taken to Paris and imprisoned but his release will almost certainly form part of the peace negotiations." His grip on the pistol tightened, as he avoided Athos' piercing stare.

"What you say is true," Athos said. "He will in all likelihood be released. However, his capture will do much to hasten the end of the war."

"As would his death," Aramis said.

"He is a more potent symbol of Spain's defeat if he is alive. If you were thinking with your head instead of your heart you would know that I am right."

"Brother Bertrand was eighteen. Marquez put a sword through his gut."

Athos' gaze didn't waver. "I am sorry, Aramis. Unless you agree to follow my orders you will stay here."

"You might be the Captain of the Musketeers, but you have no authority over me."

"No, but I do," Father Guillaume said. "You will follow his orders. There has been enough death. It is not for us to take vengeance. That is the Lord's prerogative."

"Are we agreed?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis said sullenly.

"Good. Father, our friend Porthos will be guarding the front gate. It is unlikely that any of the Spanish soldiers will return but he will give us warning should they do so."

"I understand. We will stay out of your way and pray for the success of your mission. Go with God, my sons."

With Aramis in the lead they made their way to the guest quarters. When they reached the Colonel's room Athos motioned for Aramis to stay back. The brief exertion had worn him out, leaving him weak and shaking. He knew he would be a liability so he did as he was instructed. Athos opened the door quietly, fully aware that a loaded pistol could be waiting for him on the other side. However, when he entered the room he found it to be empty.

"Damn," he muttered. "Where the hell is he? D'Artagnan, warn Porthos and then get back to the other gate. I don't want him slipping away under cover of darkness."

"I'll see to it."

After d'Artagnan had gone Athos turned to Aramis. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"He could be in the infirmary checking on his men. One was close to death."

"It's as good a place to start as any. Stay close."

The infirmary was on the other side of the monastery. By the time they arrived Aramis could barely walk. The pain in his back and face conspired to make him feel sick and dizzy. Yet he was determined to see this through. Sweat poured down his back, aggravating his wounds and his palms were slick. He wiped his hands on his robe and gripped the handle of the pistol tightly.

"Let me go first," Aramis said. "He isn't expecting to see me and it might buy us precious seconds."

Athos looked at him appraisingly before nodding. Aramis entered the infirmary, the pistol held out of sight down by his side. Colonel Marquez was sitting by the bedside of the fatally injured soldier while Brother Jerome wiped the young man's brow with a cloth. The Colonel turned, his face registering surprise. Then, before Aramis could raise his gun the Colonel grabbed Brother Jerome around the neck and pulled him in front to shield his body.

Athos walked into the room, his pistol at the ready. "Surrender, Monsieur. There is no escape."

The Colonel drew his main gauche and shifted his grip on Brother Jerome so that he could hold the knife to the monk's throat. "I think you underestimate me. Drop your weapons or I will slit his throat."

"Then you will have no hostage and no way out," Athos said.

"That might be true but then there will be another dead monk and I do not think your companion wants that." He shifted his gaze to Aramis.

"Do as he says." Aramis bent down and laid his pistol on the floor. It was almost too much effort to straighten until he saw the amused look on the Colonel's face. This was a man with no conscience and no compunction about killing to achieve his objectives.

Athos' pistol didn't waver. "This is not a negotiation."

"I think it is." With a flick of his wrist the Colonel nicked the skin close to Brother Jerome's ear. Blood ran down the elderly monk's neck and he gave an involuntary cry of pain.

"Athos!" Aramis said urgently. "He will carry out his threat if you don't comply."

"I have heard of you," the Colonel said. "Captain of the Musketeers. Yes? How does it feel to be helpless?"

"We will hunt you down," Athos said, laying down his pistol and backing away.

"I am sure you will try." Marquez nudged Brother Jerome to get him moving, twisting the monk so that they were always facing the furious Musketeers. He reached the door and gave them a wry smile. "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure." He took a step back and then suddenly stopped.

"Going somewhere?" Porthos asked.

Tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Insurgency**

 **Chapter Ten**

With Porthos behind him and two vengeful men in front the Colonel was left without any options. Yet for one heart stopping moment Aramis feared for Brother Jerome's life. Would the Colonel, in a last act of defiance, make good on his threat? To his relief the knife was removed from the monk's throat and immediately confiscated by Porthos.

"Your sword," Athos said, retrieving his pistol.

Brother Jerome stumbled away from the Colonel and Aramis moved as quickly as he could to intercept him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Brother Jerome replied, some colour coming back into his cheeks. "You would have let him go to save my life?"

"Without hesitation."

"Foolish young man," Brother Jerome said fondly.

Aramis turned away with a smile and found Francesco watching him. The young Spaniard had left his bed and was standing in the middle of the room looking confused and frightened. Aramis walked over to him.

"No harm will come to you," he said in Spanish.

Francesco looked startled. "You are no monk," he said, allowing Aramis to help him back into bed.

"For a while I was," Aramis replied, knowing with certainty that he could no longer live that life.

"Is he a threat?" Athos asked, coming over to join him and giving Francesco a grim stare.

"No," he said without hesitation. He saw Porthos hustling the Colonel away and knew that his chance for revenge had slipped through his fingers. "I thought Porthos was guarding the gate?"

"My men returned. The Spanish are defeated and none survived to threaten us. He came to help us find the Colonel."

"It's fortunate he did."

"It is. You should stay here until your wounds heal," Athos said.

Now that the Colonel was in custody he felt deathly tired. He nodded and sat on the nearest bed. "You won't leave without me?" he asked, unsure if he would even be welcomed back.

"We didn't come all this way just to leave you here. Rest now. We will talk later." He turned to Brother Jerome. "I leave him in your care, Brother."

"He will be well looked after."

Aramis struggled out of his robe, wincing as the material brushed against his skin. Then he lay down on his side, a small smile on his lips. Finally, he was going home.

TMTMTM

Thanks to a mild soporific slipped into his pain medication Aramis slept until late the next morning. When he woke the throbbing pain in his face and back immediately assailed him. He moved carefully to sit up and stayed for a moment bent forward while the dizziness abated.

Brother Jerome hurried over. "You're awake. Your friends were becoming impatient." He turned to the novice who was working with him. "Find the Musketeer Athos and bring him here. Now, let me check your back." He gently probed the skin eliciting a pained gasp from Aramis. "Yes, yes, it has started to heal and there is no sign of infection."

"Thank you, Brother."

"You must be hungry and thirsty."

Aramis touched his swollen jaw and grimaced. Eating would only add to the pain until the swelling receded. "Just some water please." He looked around the room noting only one other occupied bed. "Leandro?"

"He died in the night. It was a blessing for him. His suffering was beyond my skill to alleviate."

Aramis locked eyes with Francesco. "I am sorry about your friend."

"What about my other friends? Are they dead too?"

"Yes," Aramis said with regret.

"Then why should one more concern you?"

"All life is precious."

The young man looked unconvinced. Aramis knew what he must be feeling having suffered through it after Savoy. Francesco was lost and alone and didn't understand why he had been spared. He wished there was more comfort he could offer but the wound was too raw for empty platitudes.

"What will happen to me?"

"That is for Athos to decide." He knew he shouldn't feel sympathy for the soldier. After all he had been part of the troop that attacked Douai. Yet he couldn't help himself. In war men did terrible things under the orders of their superiors.

Athos strode into the room, his solemn expression turning into a smile when he saw his brother. "How do you feel?"

"Sore," Aramis admitted.

"Brother Jerome says it will be a few days before you can travel. He is upset that you are leaving."

"It's time for me to rejoin the world. I should speak to Father Guillaume."

"That can wait until you are stronger."

Aramis nodded. It wasn't an interview he was looking forward to even if it appeared the Abbot's opinion of him wasn't as low as he had thought. "What of the Colonel?"

"He is locked up under guard. He's an arrogant bastard. I've had to keep Porthos away from him. Our brother is looking for retribution for what happened to you."

That brought a fond smile to his face. He beckoned Athos closer, sneaking a glance at Francesco. "What do you intend to do with him?"

Athos wasn't so subtle. He stared at the young Spanish soldier. "He is of no value to us. Let him recover here and then return home."

Francesco looked at Aramis, not having understood Athos' words.

"You are free to go," Aramis told him in Spanish.

"Gracias. Gracias." The young man's relief was almost palpable.

"We should discuss your future," Athos said, dismissing the soldier from his mind. "Do you intend to seek a return of your commission?"

"If you will take me back."

"Without hesitation but I don't make the final decision. Commissions are bestowed at the pleasure of the King."

Aramis' heart thumped. "Surely he will listen to you and Treville."

"The war has changed him, Aramis. He is no longer the petulant boy we served four years ago. So, yes, he will ask our opinion. However, the decision is his and you know he doesn't like what he sees as disloyalty."

Aramis flushed. "After what happened with Rochefort can he really condemn me for walking away from the life of a soldier?"

"I don't know, my friend. He has never spoken of it to me."

"Without a commission I have nothing," he said miserably. "I would be as well to stay here."

"We will tell him of the brave part you played in capturing the Colonel. I'm sure that will sway him."

"Yes," Aramis said tentatively. "Well, there is nothing I can do until we reach Paris. Tell me, how are the Queen and Dauphin?"

"The Queen is well although war between her husband and brother has been hard on her. The Dauphin grows strong and happy. He is a charming child." Athos gave him a sideways look. "In that he is much like his father."

"You were wise all those years ago. He can never be my son and I am resigned to that."

"It will not be easy for you to see them again."

"It has not been easy living without seeing them. I will endure, my friend."

Their brief peace was shattered when Porthos and d'Artagnan burst in.

"It's about time you woke up," Porthos said, his booming voice filling the entire room. "Thought you were going to sleep all day."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Aramis said with a grin. "Ah, I have missed you all."

"As we have missed you," d'Artagnan said. "You're still coming back to Paris with us?"

"I am although Athos tells me there is no surety that I can reclaim my commission."

"Surely the King will honour you for helping to capture Colonel Marquez?"

"I hope so, d'Artagnan."

"He'd be a fool to turn you away," Porthos said fiercely.

"Then let us pray that he isn't a fool," Aramis said, trying to keep the apprehension from his voice. His entire soul yearned to return to the Musketeers and it all depended upon the whim of a capricious man who was known for holding onto a grudge for far longer than was necessary.

Tbc


	11. Chapter 11

I keep thinking that I am almost at the end of this story but it still continues on. Thank you for reading and for the lovely reviews.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter Eleven**

Aramis stood outside Father Guillaume's study. He was wearing his leathers with his sword strapped to his hip. All that was missing was the sash and a Musketeer pauldron and he felt their lack keenly. He knocked and waited.

"Enter."

After taking a deep steadying breath Aramis opened the door. Father Guillaume gave no indication of his mood as he slowly looked him up and down.

"Thank you for seeing me, Father."

"Come in, Aramis."

He noted the name. He was no longer regarded as a Brother and that brought with it an unexpected pang of loss.

"Sit down."

He had never been invited to sit in the Abbot's company before and it felt wrong. "I prefer to stand."

"You are well?"

"I am." It wasn't entirely true. Unguarded movements of his back could still result in pain and his jaw ached whenever he ate anything hard.

"I see you are leaving us."

"Although I am grateful for my years here I am a soldier at heart."

"So you have proved." There was no censure in the Abbot's voice.

"My faith remains strong and there are other ways to serve God. I will seek to become a spiritual advisor to the Musketeers."

"We each serve in our own way. You will be missed."

"You never believed in my vocation," Aramis said with mild accusation in his tone.

"I never doubted the depth of your beliefs but I don't think it was a vocation that brought you to our doors."

Aramis bowed his head in acknowledgment. He had wrestled with this all the previous night. He didn't have a true calling although he believed he could be happy in the priesthood. If he was now to walk away from it he wanted to do so with a clear conscience. "I came because of a vow I made to God. He showed me mercy when I deserved none."

"Our Lord is ever merciful to those who sincerely seek his grace."

"Will you hear my confession, Father?" He saw the Abbot's surprise which was quickly hidden.

"If you wish, my son."

Aramis dropped to his knees, his hand automatically reaching for his crucifix. After crossing himself he took a moment to ensure that he was composed. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Bless me father for I have sinned. I swore an oath on the Bible to tell the truth and then I lied…"

TMTMTM

Aramis was in a thoughtful mood when he joined Athos and the others in the courtyard. He was touched to see that most of the Brothers had gathered to wish him well. When he reached Brother Jerome he clasped the monk's hand. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done," he said.

"Be careful, my young friend. The world outside these walls is a dangerous place."

"I know." He grinned happily. "I'm looking forward to it."

Colonel Marquez was already mounted with his hands tied. Athos handed the reins of a horse to Aramis. "I assume you still remember how to ride," he said mischievously.

Aramis swung into the saddle, excitement making his heart beat faster. "Let me show you." He guided the horse through the gates and then urged it into a canter. The wind rushed past his face as he revelled in a freedom he hadn't known for four years.

Finally he slowed, waiting for the others to catch up with him. Porthos' booming laugh sent his spirits soaring ever higher. He glanced back at Marquez. The Colonel regarded him with supercilious contempt. Aramis shrugged it off, turning his face up to catch the warmth of the sun. Despite the uncertainty waiting for him in Paris he felt more alive than he'd ever done in the monastery.

They rode at a comfortable pace all morning, stopping when the sun was at its highest. Aramis dismounted stiffly, his muscles unused to the strain of riding. He walked over to where d'Artagnan was aiding the Colonel.

"So," Marquez said. "You are a failed soldier and now a failed monk."

D'Artagnan pushed the Colonel toward a tree. "Sit down and shut up."

"How many vows have you broken?" Marquez continued, his attention fixed on Aramis.

"Ignore him," Athos advised.

"It's the truth is it not?" the Colonel asked. "You gave your oath to your King to serve as a Musketeer then, when war came, you hid away in a monastery to avoid combat."

"Aramis is no coward." Porthos lunged for the Colonel.

"Leave him, Porthos." Aramis grabbed his friend's arm. "He seeks to provoke me but my conscience is clear." His emphatic words did nothing to assuage the true uncertainty he was feeling.

"He's askin' for a good beatin'," Porthos growled.

"He's our prisoner and will be treated with respect," Athos said although his thunderous expression was much at odds with his words. "There is no need to resort to violence."

Colonel Marquez settled back against the tree with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"Watch him d'Artagnan." Athos pulled Aramis away. "Don't listen to him."

"He's only saying what others will think." He could see the looks of uncertainty on the faces of Athos' men. "I turned my back on my duty. While I remained safe many of our brothers fought and died."

"That is the nature of war and you had your reasons."

"Reasons I cannot explain to the King," Aramis said sadly. "I was a fool to think it would be easy to regain my commission."

"We will persuade Louis."

Aramis gave a weak smile and nod, wishing he shared Athos' optimism.

TMTMTM

They reached the outskirts of Paris three days later. The sounds, sights and smells were so familiar that for a moment Aramis felt as if he had never left. When the archway leading to the garrison came into view he felt a faint flutter in his stomach. This had been his home for so many years.

They rode into the yard to be met by a stable boy he didn't recognise. In fact when he looked around he saw no familiar faces.

"The most experienced men are at the front," Athos told him, noticing his look. He slid from his horse and handed over the reins.

"Welcome back, Captain." The Musketeer who approached Athos was young and didn't have the look of a hardened campaigner.

"Thank you, Pascal. Can you send word to the palace of my return? Tell the King that we have Colonel Marquez in custody."

"Yes, sir."

"Come, Aramis. You can have your old room. Stow your gear and then we'll eat. Sebastien, see that the Colonel is secured and post a guard. He is to be given food and water but no other courtesy."

Aramis looked around him, suddenly feeling uncomfortably aware that he didn't belong there. "I can find lodgings in town," he said.

"Nonsense," Porthos put an arm around his shoulders. "There's plenty of room."

"That's the point, isn't it? Everyone is away fighting while I have been living in safety."

"I wouldn't say it was very safe," d'Artagnan said. "Look what happened when Marquez and his men turned up."

"You're stayin' here and that's all there is to say about it," Porthos asserted.

Recognising that he would never win the argument Aramis conceded with good grace. It was a strange sensation to walk into the room he had occupied for so long. He laid his saddlebags down on the bed before sitting down in the only chair. He thought with a fond smile of all the nights he'd spent with his brothers, drinking, laughing and generally being content in each other's company. It was a camaraderie that he had sorely missed and there was no certainty it would ever be regained. With a heavy sigh he stood and walked to the door.

He found Porthos waiting for him at the table they had always occupied in the yard. A man with grey hair was laying out food for them. He looked at Aramis curiously before nodding a silent greeting.

"Serge?" Aramis asked when the man had disappeared back towards the kitchen.

"He lost his enthusiasm for the job when the regiment marched. Decided to retire. He's got a small place just outside the city. At least he did last I heard. Haven't been back here for almost a year."

Athos came down the stairs from his office to join them. "I've send d'Artagnan to see Constance. They've been apart for a long time. In fact they've only spent a few weeks together since their marriage."

"The years have not been kind to any of you," Aramis said sadly.

"We survived and soon the war will be over." Athos cut a wedge of cheese and reached for a loaf of bread.

Porthos opened a bottle of wine, pouring the liquid into three glasses. "To old times," he said, raising his glass.

Aramis and Athos joined the toast although Aramis was left wondering if those old times could ever be recaptured.

Tbc


	12. Chapter 12

I really hope when Season 3 starts that Aramis isn't separated from his brothers for four years. When I started to write this story I had a vision of them being reunited and everything being as it was before. Then I started to explore Aramis' feelings and emotions. His life has been on pause for 4 years while his brothers have faced hardship and danger. I realised that it wouldn't be as easy as I had thought for him to be integrated back into the Musketeers and that their relationships could never quite be the same again. I hope I am doing justice to his struggle to overcome these obstacles.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter Twelve**

The summons to the Palace arrived shortly after they finished eating. Athos and Porthos fetched their dress blue capes before Porthos went to retrieve Colonel Marquez from his prison. Aramis watched it all with a heavy heart.

"Are you ready?" Athos asked.

Aramis remained in his seat. "I will wait here. The King sent for you, not me."

"He wants a report and you have valuable information."

"I don't know, Athos. There's nothing I can tell him that will make any difference. The threat is over and the Colonel is in custody."

"Thanks to you."

"What's goin' on?" Porthos asked. He had a firm grip on the Colonel's arm and seemed quite content to cause serious discomfort and bruising.

"Aramis doesn't believe he should come with us." Athos glowered at Marquez who was listening with undisguised satisfaction.

"If you want your commission back you've got to start impressin' the King," Porthos said. "Hearing about Douai first hand is a good start."

Aramis sighed heavily. "I suppose you are right, my friend."

"My King would not welcome back a man who hid away while his brothers fought and died," Marquez said. "Perhaps your King is a weaker man."

"Shut your mouth." Porthos yanked Marquez away towards the horses.

"This is a bad idea. I don't deserve a commission," Aramis said sadly.

"You served faithfully for many years. The King will take that into account. Besides, what will you do if you don't rejoin the Musketeers?"

"There are other regiments."

"Absolutely not," Athos said firmly. "Come on. We don't want to keep him waiting."

TMTMTM

They stood in the throne room waiting for Louis. Aramis' heart thumped painfully behind his ribs. He had no confidence that he would be welcomed back. When the doors opened he had another reason for uncertainty. Queen Anne walked into the room at her husband's side, her eyes widening when she saw him. Then, all signs of emotion cleared from her face. He wondered if she hated him now. She had every right. He had broken his word to her. He remembered the day she told him she was expecting his child.

" _I will watch over your son and guard him with all my strength and heart. I will lay down my life for him, if necessary. He will have no more devoted servant."_

Instead he had abandoned her and the Dauphin without a word of explanation or farewell. He bowed deeply and, even when he straightened, he kept his eyes downcast in flustered embarrassment.

Athos was acutely aware of Aramis standing at his right shoulder. He couldn't risk even a glance at his friend to see how he was handling being in the presence of the Queen. After bowing he stood to attention and waited for the King to speak.

"Wonderful, Captain. You have exceeded all my expectations."

"Your Majesty is very gracious." Athos nudged Marquez forward, aware that the Spaniard had not bowed or shown any sign of respect towards the King. "This is Colonel Marquez. He led a troop of soldiers intent upon attacking the town of Douai."

"You are fortunate that I don't order your immediate execution," Louis said haughtily.

"I am of more value alive, as we both know."

Louis flushed angrily. "That remains to be seen." He gestured to one of the Red Guard who was standing on duty close to the throne. "Take him away."

"You will see that Aramis has returned to us, Sire," the Queen said.

There was no sign of welcome on Louis face. "Perhaps, Captain, you can explain why a former Musketeer is in your company."

"Colonel Marquez commandeered the monastery at Douai as his headquarters. Aramis was a lay brother there. When he found out what the Spanish were planning he risked his life to get word to the town."

"And now he is here expecting our gratitude?"

"No, Your Majesty," Aramis said. "I was only doing my duty to France."

"We expect nothing less of our subjects."

"I would formally request that Aramis' commission be returned to him," Athos said.

Louis frowned at him. "He had the exceptional honour of being one of our Musketeers and he chose to resign his commission. He left us at a time of great need. We do not easily forgive disloyalty."

"He was following his vocation, Sire."

"A vocation that he had apparently abandoned as well. No, Captain, he had his chance and made the choice to throw away his career. Now, we have much to discuss…in private."

Aramis struggled to keep the disappointment from his face as he bowed and backed out of the King's presence. He was conscious of Porthos following close behind him.

"Athos'll talk 'im round," Porthos said, after the doors had closed behind them.

"I believe you are wrong about that," Aramis said. "The King has made his decision perfectly clear. I will never be a Musketeer again."

TMTMTM

"Minister Treville sent word from the front. The fighting has noticeably decreased. He told you about the ambassador from my brother-in-law?"

"He did, Sire."

"The terms he was proposing were unacceptable, of course. Now, though, we have the upper hand. Colonel Marquez is quite the folk hero. His influence spread throughout the army. Without him Philip will find his troops morale to be greatly decreased."

"Is the ambassador still in Paris?"

"He is. I will send for him immediately. You did well, Captain."

"We couldn't have done it without Aramis."

Louis' expression darkened. "I am grateful for the part he played and for his past service, but there will be no commission."

"If Your Majesty would give me leave to tell you what he had to endure?" Athos took the King's curt nod as permission. "He was captured by the Spanish and tortured for information." He heard the Queen gasp and noted that she had become pale. "Forgive me," he said solicitously. "I didn't mean to distress you."

"The Queen has a soft heart," Louis said. "I am sorry to hear that he suffered in our service."

"He refused to talk until the Colonel murdered one of the monks and threatened the other members of the community. Even when grievously injured he still took part in the Colonel's capture."

"He is to be commended for his bravery."

Athos held back a frustrated sigh. "He is, Sire."

"You can return to the garrison and attend upon us tomorrow morning. By then I will have spoken to the ambassador and we will hopefully be a step closer to peace."

"As you wish, Sire." Athos bowed and left the room. Porthos and Aramis were waiting for him and he didn't have to say a word for them to know that his plea had gone unheard.

Tbc


	13. Chapter 13

This is the final chapter. Thank you for the more than one hundred reviews for this story. Now I just have to wait impatiently for season 3 to start to find out what actually happens.

 **Insurgency**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Anne sat in the spring sunshine in her private gardens watching her beloved son playing with his governess. Lady Helene was very different from Marguerite, being of middle years, plump and of no great beauty. Anne still couldn't understand what had motivated Marguerite to betray her and Aramis and couldn't find it in her to be sorry that the woman had taken her own life in shame.

The boy's wild dark curls framed a face that held all the promise of masculine beauty and his pale blue eyes saw the world as a wondrous place. Except for his eyes he grew to look more like Aramis with each passing day. It was fortunate that Louis didn't notice. The King was totally besotted with his son and had long discounted Rochefort's 'lies'.

It had been a profound shock to see Aramis again. When he left she had been hurt and angry. It had been months before she had the chance to speak to Athos on one of his rare trips to Paris. When she heard Aramis' reasons she could only admire his self-sacrifice. Gradually she had taught herself not to think about him. Now he was back, making her heart beat a little faster. Her love for him had never diminished but it seemed a distant thing; a fond memory to be cherished.

She touched her stomach and smiled tenderly. It had only been two days ago that she had been certain that she was again with child. Louis had been ecstatic although they were waiting for her to pass the three month mark before announcing it. Her pregnancy gave her a unique opportunity to sway the King. She had been appalled by his callous refusal to commission Aramis and vowed that she would do all she could to change his mind.

"Maman, watch me," the boy shouted, running up to her.

"Of course, my darling." She pulled him close for a hug. "I saw your father today," she whispered, seeing the incomprehension in the child's eyes when he pulled away from her. He was used to seeing her and the King together so the statement must have seemed strange.

"Can I go riding later?" he asked.

He had been given his own pony on his fourth birthday and would have spent every hour in the stables with it if he was given the chance. He was totally fearless, and in that she saw echoes of his father. Truly, Aramis had given her the most wondrous gift.

"We'll see."

He accepted that with easy grace and ran back to his governess. Although she dutifully watched him at play her mind was occupied in trying to find the arguments that would sway her husband.

TMTMTM

"I have to report to the Palace," Athos told Porthos the next morning. He looked over to where Aramis sat in forlorn silence. "See if you can do something to cheer him up. And, Porthos, don't let him leave. We'll find some way to convince the King."

"He was talkin' about goin' back to the monastery but I don't think he really wants to."

"His life there is over. I just wish Treville were here. I'm sure he would have more success."

"The King will come round eventually. We'll do what we did with d'Artagnan. Let Aramis tag along while we're on duty. That'll bring him to the King's attention."

"That might work," Athos said. "I must go." He walked over to his horse and mounted swiftly. "Talk to him. Keep him engaged. I'll be back later."

Porthos watched the Captain leave before rejoining Aramis. He pointed to Aramis' sword which lay on the table. "You still remember how to swing that?"

An expectant gleam appeared in Aramis' eyes. "I can recall a thing or two."

"Come on then." Porthos removed his doublet, drew his sword and moved out into the centre of the yard. "Let's see what you've got."

Aramis chuckled and unsheathed his blade, taking up a fighting stance. He quickly found himself hard-pressed by Porthos and was forced onto the defensive. Although the moves came naturally to him, his speed and stamina were missing. Porthos' blade caught his and, with a flick of his wrist, the larger man disarmed him. He stood breathing heavily and looking with some disbelief at his sword lying in the dust. Porthos picked it up.

"Again."

Aramis grasped the handle and, before he could draw breath into his labouring lungs, Porthos attacked. By the time his sword hit the ground for the second time he was feeling thoroughly humiliated.

"You've grown soft," Porthos said, his tone full of affection.

"So it would seem."

His next attempt was better. Porthos still beat him but at least he still had hold of his blade. He held up a hand in defeat. "Mercy, my dear Porthos."

Porthos grinned. "You 'ave a rest and then we'll try some wrestlin'". His grin widened when Aramis groaned theatrically.

"Good morning." D'Artagnan strode into the yard. "What have I missed?"

"Nothing much," Aramis said, lowering his aching body onto the bench. "Just Porthos demonstrating how much I need to do to get back into shape."

"It won't take you long," d'Artagnan said, sitting beside him and pouring a cup of wine.

"I'm sure you're right. Assuming I survive Porthos' enthusiastic efforts to help me."

"You're staying then?" d'Artagnan asked. "What happened with the King?"

Aramis' good mood evaporated. "He refused me a commission."

"What? You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am. You will recall he prizes loyalty above all other virtues." Those were the words Louis had said to d'Artagnan before bestowing his commission. "Unfortunately by leaving I incurred his enmity."

"What will you do?"

"I am not yet sure. Athos has said I can stay here for the moment while I consider my options."

"You ready?" Porthos asked. "You're not goin' to get fit sitting around on your arse."

Aramis stood up and looked down at his young friend. "Pray for me, d'Artagnan. I have a feeling before Porthos is finished I am going to need some divine intervention."

TMTMTM

As had become her habit Anne joined her husband for a light lunch. Although they were surrounded by servants this was as close to private as the royal couple came except on those nights that they spent together.

"I have been thinking about your decision to refuse Aramis a commission," she said.

The King frowned. "A King does not give second chances."

"You did with Treville."

"He proved his loyalty by standing up to Rochefort."

A shiver went down Anne's spine at the thought of the man who had almost succeeded in tearing the monarchy apart. "As did Aramis. He was most cruelly wronged by Rochefort yet he returned at the risk of his own life to save me."

"I know you feel beholden to him because of his actions…"

"He saved my life on more than one occasion with never a thought for his own safety."

"That is what I would expect of a King's Musketeer."

"Then why refuse him now?"

"We have been at war for four years. His duty was to fight on behalf of his country but he chose to sequester himself in a monastery."

"It appears he never forgot his duty, My Lord. He fought the Spanish when they invaded French soil. We have lost many men to this war. Aramis is not only a brave soldier he is an accomplished medic and surely his years in the monastery will allow him to bring spiritual solace to his comrades."

"You make a passionate case," Louis said, smiling at her fondly. "If this is really your wish I will make an exception. You know that I can refuse you nothing now."

TMTMTM

Athos loaded his plate with ham, cheese and fresh baked bread. "The King has sent the Spanish ambassador home with an ultimatum. If Philip doesn't propose more realistic peace terms within the next month he will execute Marquez publicly."

"Would the death of one man really mean so much to the Spanish King?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Not of itself, but Spain is losing this war and has already made overtures for peace. Marquez' death would demoralise an army that is already staring defeat in the face."

"He deserves to die," Aramis said, stretching painfully. His wrestling bout with Porthos had been every bit as bad as he had been expecting. He didn't think there was an inch of his body that wasn't covered in bruises.

"No-one disputes that," Athos said. "However, you know how diplomacy works. Marquez will be returned to Spain as a condition of the peace treaty.

Aramis looked at his food and pushed the plate away. "There is no justice in this world."

"Never thought there was," Porthos said.

One of the Musketeers on guard duty at the entrance to the garrison approached Athos and handed over a letter. Recognizing the royal seal, Athos opened it quickly and scanned the content.

"We are summoned to the Palace," he said. He saw Aramis' downcast expression. "You are included in the invitation."

Aramis raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"The message is quite clear."

"Do you think the King has reconsidered?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shrugged. "Who can tell with Louis?"

The stable boy saddled four horses and they were on their way ten minutes later. They rode in silence while Aramis' stomach tied itself in knots of expectant anxiety. When they arrived in the throne room the King and Queen were already there but Aramis couldn't read their expressions. Numerous courtiers were in attendance as were a handful of Red Guard. After they had bowed Louis stood and stepped down from the dais. He approached Aramis, who found his nerves were now shredded.

"You have a powerful advocate on your side," the King said.

Aramis glanced at the Queen who was watching him with a slight smile on her lips.

"Kneel," the King said. "Captain, may I borrow your sword?"

Aramis dropped to one knee, his breathing shallow. The sword touched his shoulder.

"I hereby commission you into my regiment of Musketeers."

The sword was lifted over his head to touch his other shoulder. He felt the same surge of emotion he had experienced the first time he'd been commissioned and struggled to keep the tears from his eyes.

The Queen joined her husband and handed a pauldron to Athos. "If you would be so kind, Captain?"

Athos slipped the coveted leather over Aramis' hand and pulled it up to his shoulder. "Welcome back, Brother," he said.

The End


End file.
